The Spork Club
by TheSilentDemon
Summary: In which the League implements a dumb club requirement rule and a group of slackers cheat their way around it, champions reveal their true personalities behind the masks they wear on the Fields of Justice for the summoners, and shit hits the fan.


_A/N: before you read, let me say something first. in this story, i deviate from the journals of justice quite a bit. i added lots of weird stuff, technology is super advanced and all that fun stuff. so it's set in the league world but just barely. almost a crossover into the real world. all of that's intended. also, i started this for fun, so i might not update too much. sorry._

_warnings: profanity, mentions of sexual stuff, and maybe more. no lemons though. i will not be writing lemons. because i feel extraordinarily awkward writing them._

**I**

...in which katarina's halfway to being a nutcase and demacia needs proper sex ed

* * *

When the League announced that clubs would be created within the League to encourage more social interaction and that all champions were required to join one to stay in the League, most champions responded positively.

Except for Katarina.

It sounded like a rather stupid, highschool-ish thing to be implementing within a place of fighting. Who knows what sort of logic led to this dumb decision, they might very well just hand the entire thing over to Annie and Tibbers.

The social interactions within the League were not, in fact, particularly hostile. The lores written for every champion were over dramatized and sometimes exaggerated; the champion personalities that made up the League were all much milder than their wildly written lores.

Obviously, all the champions were terrific actors on the Fields, accounting for their repetitive, and sometimes annoying (Repetitions of "size doesn't mean everything," in a innocent, twistedly cute voice gets to you) catchphrases that are spoken in the midst of battle. But what happens outside of battle was completely separate.

So the social situation wasn't exactly bad. Well, not as bad as it seemed. And yet, those dumbass summoners just had to throw in these rules about belonging to a club for more social interaction between champions.

It was going to be a pain.

Because, unfortunately for Katarina, being in a club required a talent. Which, apparently, could not be anything violent, since the the clubs were meant to take their minds off of battle. Or something.

It had to be something like music ("No, Katarina, the sound of flesh being cut is not music, as much as it is to your ears," they said), sports ("No, Katarina, bladework does not count as a sport as much as it is a form of excercise!"), art (No, Katarina, the art of killing does not count as fine arts!") or some fun shit like that.

They would not allow her to "pick loopholes," as they called it.

It was her innate creativity, she kept insisting.

"No, that's your sadistic obsession with maiming and inducing pain," she heard one particularly snarky summoner mutter, evoking giggles from a few nearby friends.

That summoner's beloved dog died the next day.

How sad.

* * *

Katarina and Talon didn't interact much. They were more like acquaintances than anything, nowhere near any sort of brother-sister relationship that was often assumed of them. However, at the moment, they shared a similar predicament.

Well, not really. Talon was just lazy and Katarina was itching to hurt _something_, anything.

But they were both anti-social (okay that one's not entirely true either. They just both happen to enjoy looking intimidating and people/creatures automatically shy away. And Katarina's personality is a little… difficult to handle. Though in Katarina's opinion, Talon was also the most socially awkward man to ever have lived) and could not find a club.

So somehow they found themselves in each other's company at a terribly early hour of the morning, walking through the now-empty halls of the League grounds, brooding over their neverending, miserable crisis.

Never a day where Katarina's overdramatization skills didn't come in handy. Why hadn't she try the drama club? Oh wait… she did try it. But apparently they weren't supposed to use_ real_ knives during the performance… whoopsies.

_Moving on._

So they were strolling. For a while, it was just Katarina talking. Ranting, really. About the irrationality of the clubs (not that she would really be eligible to speak about rationality), how unfair it was that there were no "let's kill things" clubs. And then Talon began ranting too, in his own, quiet, freaky-as-fuck way (because its super emotionless yet full of rage and you know he's angry but his tone seems flat and it's just scary as hell, okay?!).

And it was then that it hit her.

A flyer.

Literally. Right in the face. Well aimed, it must be said.

_Are you a talentless outcast? Are you a freak that no one will accept into a club? Are you maybe just plain lazy? Or any combination of the above?_

_Then the Spork Club is for you!_

_Join us in the magical place where you are free to do whatever you want that does not involve kissing hats, stripping, or stabbing people with chopsticks up the asshole!* That's right, all of our clubtime is just freetime!_

_Don't worry, we don't do anything with sporks._

_Except, to come in, you need one._

_So bring a spork._

_*Note that other forms of stabbing are permitted._

They glanced at each other. It seemed to be a good solution to their problems. Especially the stabbing part. Katarina would have to request that they define what makes something a chopstick.

Now, it wasn't exactly a very ordinary flyer. It had a large scribble of JINX WAS HERE in hot pink highlighter, a colour Katarina thought her eyes shouldn't have to deal with at this ungodly hour, and also lots of little chibi drawings of what were supposed to be champions on the side. Katarina couldn't help but admit they were rather well done. Except for her. In that wretched kat (yes, dumb-as-fuck pun intended) costume those wretched summoners shoved onto her every Halloween.

Despite less-than-appealing poster, Katarina decided to join the club, in case they were in need of a ruthless killer. And Talon, seeing as there was no better option, reluctantly agreed to follow, officially defined as a talentless, lazy, outcasted freak.

But more importantly, to find a spork.

* * *

"I'm gonna need a spork, dear sister!"

"Excuse me…?" Cassiopeia turned her head slowly to her door, where Katarina had burst in.

"I need a spork, Cass, a spork!" Katarina yelled.

"You do realize that your voice carries quite some distance and we are only a mere 5 metres apart—you need not boast your amazing vocal chords." The other woman responded without a blink of the eye in a disapproving tone of voice (which she always had anyway—Katarina was starting to think it was a side effect of being half-reptile), "And what in the heavens is a spork?"

"You know, half-spoon, half fork? Like you, except you're kind of… a snake."

"...What. Those things exist? And hey! I will not tolerate being compared to utensil." Cassiopeia stared at Katarina like she was insane. Well. She was insane.

"Shush, lady, just gimme one!"

"Go bug someone else. I have a spa thing to get to."

"Two weeks ago you didn't know spas existed!"

"We live in the present, dear."

"Don't you 'dear' me–"

"Bye, Katarina."

Slam.

"Loving sister I've got." Katarina mumbled, kicking the door with her boot.

Katarina had no luck with Swain, Darius, or even LeBlanc, her just-as-demonic best friend. All of them were absent from their rooms, most likely doing club activities. So, reluctantly, Katarina went to the only other champion that didn't purposely avoid her (which wasn't really a good thing. Said person was rather clingy and slightly annoying to deal with sometimes).

"Katarina! What brings you here this fine day?" An overly cheerful voice greeted her.

She turned to face the broad shouldered man in front of her, gaping as she took in the sight. "Garen… why do you have a…"

"It's a chicken."

"…chicken… stuck on your hand?"

"That would be my business. Now, onto you! What is it that you need?"

Katarina couldn't keep her eyes away and kept glancing at the chicken stuck onto the hand of the warrior. It really looked like Garen had stuck his hand straight into the poor chicken's asshole. Ouch.

"Katarina?"

She snapped to attention again. "Oh! Yeah. I need a spork."

"Oh, um, sure… Weird, you know, Lux came here asking me for one a while ago too. Is it like a puberty thing or something you females experience or what…?" Garen pulled a small silver spork from his pocket (what the hell was it doing there?) with the hand that wasn't up a chicken's ass and handed it to Katarina.

Garen was serious; his facial expression was purely of curiosity. Katarina could barely keep her face straight. Did this guy skip out on sex ed or something? Or did they not have that in Demacia?

That should be on the list of reasons why Noxus is better. Reason #0704 (yes, Katarina was already up to the 700's): Noxian children get sexual education at an early age and know that puberty doesn't happen in your 20's. And that cravings for sporks were not on the list of secondary sexual characteristics girls had.

"Yeah… sure. It's a girl thing." Katarina smiled innocently and walked away.

"Okay then! Bye!"

Yep. Garen, the Might of Demacia, was clueless in sexual education.

And cue uncontrollable laughter… now.


End file.
